Merciless
by Medusa Davenport
Summary: AU.  What if the ogre killed Leandra instead of one of the twins?  What if the Templars rename mages with their mother's maiden name?  What if Garrett Amell is actually Garrett Hawke- and what if he meets his long-lost twin Marian?
1. Ostagar

An idea that's been popping around in my head. Its also going to incorporate as many kmeme fills as I can possibly manage to weave in. This chapter written to a combination of the Ranconteurs, Florence & the Machine, and RJD2. Don't ask.

Rated for graphic violence and some language. For now.

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><p>Marian Hawke stares at the bearded man and his Templar buddy with her arms folded over her chest. To her right, her younger brother Carver mimics her pose in a more intimidating form with his large stature equivalent to the other men's and his cheek still bruised in the shape of knuckles. There's something oddly familiar about the shaggy fellow standing in front of her, though she couldn't say why it is he looks so familiar because there's no way they could have met. He's wearing the heavy robes of a Circle mage and she can tell from the way his eyes keep flashing around and then widening in amazement that this is his first time outside of the Tower.<p>

"Are you two really qualified to recruit for the Wardens?" she asks, lifting a sardonic brow. Carver snorts next to her in a nonverbal approval at her smarminess. Encouraged, she presses on. "Not that your other recruits are exactly winners." She glances toward the fire, where a knight in Redcliff livery mutters frantic prayers and a grimy-looking fellow shoots her a wink and a smile that reveals brownish-yellow teeth.

The mage stares at her face for such a long time that Hawke is tempted to swat him. Since arriving to meet the king's army three days ago, she's had to hand out a few violent reminders that she is as good a fighter as they are- often a better fighter. Perhaps the Wardens haven't heard of how she punched her own brother for trying to stand up for her and then proceeded to kick a man's teeth in. As her arms drop and her fists clench in preparation for another righteous ass-beating, the bearded mage blinks and shakes his head faintly, as if to ward off a spell. Which is entirely possible. Bethany does the exact same blink and head-shake when she's done casting very complicated magic, as does their father. Perhaps it's a mage thing.

"I'm simply asking if you two would be willing to talk to Duncan," the mage sighs. He rolls his eyes and she shoots a sidelong scowl at Carver because the gesture reminds her of him.

Hawke does not lower her guard or her hands, but her eyebrows relax from their scowl. "Why? You haven't even seen us fight," she says. And then she asks, "Were you just doing magic? Are you even _allowed_ to do it without Templar permission?"

The Templar behind the mage laughs and pretends to cough, but does a poor job of hiding his guffaw. Her eyes cut to him momentarily; she's never seen a Templar with a sense of humor, much less a sense of humor regarding mage-Templar relations. His eyes twinkle at her and she realizes that they are very blue and for all that his armor is repulsive to her, he is exceptionally handsome compared to the boys she's flirted with in the village growing up, albeit in a sweet and adorable manner that quells any attraction. Not that he needed help wearing that armor. She focuses back on this familiar-looking mage, trying to decide where she's seen his features before.

"I- what?" the mage sputters, his cheeks flushing a bit under the stubble. How long has he been out of the Circle and why hasn't anyone offered him a razor? His eyes narrow a bit and bushy brows contract into a frown under his messy dark hair. He lowers his voice to a whisper and steps a bit closer. "How did you know?"

She gives him a slight shove backward. "I've seen mages before, Mage," she snaps.

"Come on, Amell," says the Templar. He has a gentle, amused voice. "Duncan will have our asses if we don't get over there soon."

But his words mean nothing after the name. Her head whirls with all of her mother's old stories of Kirkwall and she sees Carver reach for him. Her hand shoots out, lightning-fast, to catch her brother's wrist. Amell looks at their exchange in confusion, turning from the Templar to the Hawke siblings with raised brows.

"Is something the matter?" the mage asks. He looks from one face to the other while the Templar looks from Hawke to the Amell fellow who must be their cousin or something. His brown eyes dart around for a moment and he steps close again. "Are you an apostate? I didn't feel any magic coming from you, but then again, apostates are said to be rather clever." His lips quirk a bit and then his eyes shift away for a moment and she feels a bit sorry that he hasn't enjoyed the same freedom as her sister- if frequently running from your life and not making friends to avoid being caught can be considered 'freedom.'

Carver's elbow digs into her side just as she scowls and snaps, "No." She takes a step back from him with a hand on her brother's shoulder. "Maker, what the hell is _wrong_ with you, Mage?" Before the scene can get any worse, she grabs her brother by the elbow and wheels him around with her. They stalk back toward their tent together.

"You did a mighty good job impersonating an ignorant mage-hating peasant, sister," Carver hisses in her ear. She pinches his arm and he swats her hand.

"Shut it, you lumbering twat," she grumbles, giving him a half-hearted shove. "There was something off about him. Anyway, we probably shouldn't advertise our enlightened views in a camp full of military and legal authorities."

He sighs and rebounds from her shove to sling a muscled arm around her shoulder. "His name was Amell. You heard that, right? He's related to us somehow. A cousin, you think?" he asks, raising his brows in puppyish enthusiasm. His hand snakes up to pinch her cheek and she growls. "Did you notice he's got the same haircut as you?" he cackles before sprinting off, giving her a shove to ensure he can outrun her.

Hawke chases him down without effort, springing into the air when she's a few feet behind him and landing with both feet and hands on his back, crouching over Carver's prone form. "As long as I can whip your ass, little brother, don't mock the hair."

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><p>Garrett's sides burn. His hair clings to his forehead and dripping sweat stings his eyes but he does not stop running. Only the silent Qunari, Sten, keeps pace with him. He can hear Alistair and Leliana cursing behind him, darting over rocks and around dead trees, but he does not slow. He crests a hill and sees the massive ogre running up toward the Hawke family, those dark-haired siblings he met at Ostagar. He spots a third sibling, also a dark-haired girl, but with a sweeter face than her sister. And a gray-haired woman and his heart pulses frantically.<p>

Both of the younger ones are yelling things at the ogre, stepping between the monster and their mother. The oldest, the one who goes by her surname only, slides back against the rocks near where the ogre approached and has her daggers out, preparing to launch a more stealthy attack. To his surprise, as she stands there, her figure blends in with the shadow until he can't see her for all he searches.

"Maker, give me strength," the girl cries, flinging a flames at the creature.

"You soulless bastards!" the boy screams, leaping up alongside the blaze of fire with his blade lifted above his head, intent on slashing down.

The eldest Hawke leaps from the shadows at the same time, flying onto the monsters back as her siblings attack him head-on. Garrett rushes down the hill until he is in range, already tracing the symbols with his fingers and muttering the words with his lips. His paralyzing spell lands a second late, as the ogre sweeps an arm out, knocking both of the young ones aside as well as their mother. All three slam into the rocks with a crunch, but the siblings- twins, he thinks, looking at them- land atop their mother.

As his spell hits, Sten leaps into the fray and he sees a red-haired woman with a shield yelling at the monster and fighting with the same style of battering bashes and darting stabs that Alistair uses. He remembers seeing her among the soldiers at Ostagar. Garrett extends a hand and a shock of lightning shoots out, widening in its wake to sizzle into the ogre. A rock sails at him and Alistair appears just in time, skidding down the hill and slamming his shield up into the stone to break it. His feet scrape back in the dirt and Garrett sidesteps a collision. Leliana steps up beside him and draws her bow, sighting along it and letting fly with a murmured prayer. Her arrow lodges in the ogre's neck as he tries to buck the eldest Hawke off, but she clings with her daggers embedded in his thick hide, lips drawn back from her teeth in a snarl as she twists the blades. Sten whips his giant sword over his head and slams it into a heavy arm as it descends toward Alistair and the redhead, their shields snapping together in tandem as their army training proves far more useful than he imagined. The beast's forearm falls free and both shields shift to let it slide to the ground.

The ogre rakes his remaining arm back over his head to claw at Hawke. Garrett sends a blast of raw spirit energy directly into the beast just as she flips up into the air, flying over the massive horns. Her knives flash down just as his magic twists and _rips_. Its head bounces away just as its body explodes. Hawke keeps up her deadly dance, the momentum of her strike reversing to carry her out of the way of the blast.

Her eyes flick back to him briefly and then she flips her blades into sheaths on her back with a flourish. She sprints toward her family, shouting for them. The twins have managed to shift off their mother, both with several broken bones and blood running from their noses and mouths. But her body is crumpled, her chest caved in on one side and her labored breathing sends a spray of blood from her lips. He can't help but feel that same pull he did at Ostagar when he first saw Hawke and Carver walking through the camp, this time more frantic. He sprints after her, hurrying to kneel with the battered bodies and already remembering his healing lessons with Enchanter Wynne in the Circle.

Hawke cradles her mother's head in her lap, shivering in some spasm of horror. "Mother," she whispers, her hand cupping a blood-misted cheek. Beside her, the female twin is shaking with gurgling sobs around her broken jaw, blood and drool pouring from her mouth in equal measure. She lies on the ground, curled around their mother's side as best she can with the growing stain of blood along her ribs. The male twin sits up more, his face pale and his eyes fixed on their mother, a hand wrapped around hers in spite of the bone protruding from his forearm. At his elder sister's single uttered word, he leans over and vomits off to the side, spitting and then tipping his head back against the rocks for a moment.

Garrett can save the twins easily, but not their mother. He can see that her lungs are too full of blood to drain in time, that too many fragments of bone have entered her bloodstream, and that her back has been broken and she will never walk again even if he could save her. So he sets to work patching the claw-marked gash on the girl's side, knitting the tissue and cracked bones together before she can lose any more blood. She shivers and looks up at him with golden brown eyes, eyes he remembers seeing in his own reflection when he had access to mirrors in the Circle.

The old woman gasps and her hand fumbles to grasp his. He turns to stare at her, his heart thudding. "Garrett," she coughs, bleary eyes softening. She smiles at him. "I knew I'd see you again one day." Her fingers tighten on his hand for a second and all three of her other children stare at him suddenly.

His throat closes and he can feel the eyes of his companions and the redhead from Ostagar as he stares down at the dying woman. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, stroking her hair out of her eyes. "I was too late to save you." His chest aches and he feels tears burning his eyes. Just as he found her, he's losing her completely. A soft, ragged sob escapes him and he feels the mage girl's hand join theirs, gripping tight around both his fingers and the woman's. Garrett closes his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mother."


	2. Lothering

A/N: The entire premise is that the Hawke family had two sets of twins. Garrett Hawke was taken by Templars as a child when their father was away. The Circle has a policy of re-naming mage children by their _**mother's maiden name**_, so they have more trouble tracking down family if they escape. It is AU, but not super AU. Garrett Amell (formerly Garrett Hawke until the age of 6) will do what the Warden did. And Marian Hawke will do what Hawke did. And of course they will cross paths again.

warnings: death, angst, bit of fluff toward the end. Hopefully Morrigan isn't too OOC. Tough to write.

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><p>"Who the <em>hell<em> are you?" she snaps. Hawke glares at the bearded Amell fellow who called her mum 'mother' and stole those last precious words from the rest of them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, old screams echo and demand that she remembers flames and tears and the terror of heavy metal hands reaching past her. She shakes her head vigorously in an effort to dissipate that darkened memory, the pieces of her early childhood she has chosen to forget.

He frowns through his tearful expression, his fingertips glowing as he heals Bethany's jaw with a popping noise. "You don't remember? We were six when they took me," he says. His eyes narrow and he speaks through gritted teeth, emphasizing the number with a pained syllable. "_Six._"

"Andraste's ass," grumbles Carver. "I _told_ you the Templars took our brother."

Hawke reacts as she has reacted every time he's said that in the past nineteen years. She backhands him. It is no secret in their family, just not a topic either parent has ever wanted to speak of. Only on his deathbed, charging her to take care of the family, did her father mention her lost twin, saying he 'should have been there.' She has pretended since then that it was brought on by delirium. This is the second time her long-lost twin has stolen a parent's dying words and Maker, she hates him for it.

When she hits Carver, though, the mage jumps at her. She's faster and stronger, built for fighting, but he's larger than she is, and apparently life in the Circle didn't turn him too soft or scrawny. And somewhere in the back of her head she remembers wrestling with a little boy just her size, a boy with dark hair and brown eyes, a little boy who chased her around their mother and climbed into her top bunk when the voices of his nightmares got too loud. Before she can start bawling, she jabs her elbow against his eye and twists away. The huge Qunari looks on in silence, but Bethany and Carver and Aveline are all giving her the same baleful stare as the redheaded archer and the puppyish Templar.

"Don't touch me," she hisses at the mage.

He glares through a swollen eyelid. "We have to get out of here," he says, and she knows he's not exaggerating. She scowls as he continues, edging over to heal Carver's arm. Without looking at her, he says, "You should come with us. We need all the help we can get defeating the Blight."

The Templar man glances at the mage worriedly. "They're in no shape to come with us," he says. His soft puppy eyes shift away from her when she tries to stare him down.

"We don't want to come with you," she sneers. "We're trying to get away from the Blight, not run toward it."

"Mother said we needed to get to Kirkwall," Bethany whispers, tears springing to her eyes as she talks through the ache of her jaw. Though it's been healed, the mess of blood and snot and meat clings to her face and the fabric of her dress.

"Well, we can't stay here," Hawke snaps, taking her sister's hand protectively. "We have to keep moving."

Aveline glances at her. "The roads ahead are overrun. North is cut off."

"Then we go south," Hawke says decisively. "We'll get to Gwaren and take ship." She glances at Bethany as Carver hisses and leans over to vomit some more. "Can you walk?" she asks.

Bethany nods and shifts painfully to sit up. Hawke and Aveline move to either side to help her get to her feet and hold her in place. Carver gets up as well, looking a bit green, and wipes the back of his mouth with his good hand before hunting down his sword and sheathing it.

"You should not let your weapon fall," the Qunari says. The deep rumble of his voice startles them all.

"Uh, right," says Carver. "Thanks."

They walk south for hours. A dark-haired woman with her hood drawn up joins them and she catches the mage glancing at the newcomer. She knows glances like that. She's seen them more than once, when Carver notices a pretty girl or when a man notices her. Remaining silent, she follows as the woman leads them to a clearing and points at a cabin nestled among several small ponds on a grassy knoll.

"My mother will be able to help you," the woman, Morrigan, says. Hawke glances at her for a moment and raises her brows. The hooded woman crosses her arms and sniffs haughtily. "Well, I'm not going in."

"Then this is good-bye," Hawke says quickly. She pushes Bethany and Carver ahead of her on the path and Aveline follows after a worried glance.

"Wait," says the mage, reaching to catch her arm. Hawke whirls to glare at him. "In case you ever need to find me," he says, tugging something out of his robes. A small vial glows at the end of a leather thong. He thrusts it toward her and it sways in midair.

"Why would I need to find you?" she asks dully.

He shakes his head as if he can't believe she's asking this. "Because we're family," he answers patiently. "And I don't want to lose you again."

"We just bloody met," Hawke sneers. She whirls away from him and stalks onto the swampy stretch of land between ponds that serves as a path to the cabin. That bastard Amell follows after her, clapping a hand on her shoulder and forcing her around. "Look at me," he yells, the dark hair dancing over his eyes with the force and volume of his voice. He gives her a solid shake. "Look," he says again, this time quiet, pleading.

"If you knew the whole time, why didn't you say something?" she snaps, shaking his hand off. "Why didn't you come back, or write to us, or something?" Her eyes ache and she wants to kill him with her knives and vomit into the pond.

The mage shakes his head sadly. "I couldn't. They don't let you," he answers.

She slaps him in the center of the chest and shoves him back a few steps. "I know!" she shouts. She's completely irrational and she knows it, but she doesn't care. "I'm not a bloody idiot!"

His eyes darken and he steps toward her again. Her ears pop with the energy sizzling around him. "Then why did you ask?" he demands. He takes another step. "While we're on the subject, why didn't you come and get me, like you promised? Why didn't you sneak in and steal me the way you said you would all those times before?" She hears a snap as his hands jerk out to the sides. The wild gesture of helpless fury drives her back a pace. His eyes flash with the reflected white glow of roiling magic. "You might have forgotten all about me, Marian, but you've been haunting my nightmares since I was taken."

"Shut up," she whispers, not wanting to hear more. She tries to step back but he waves a hand and the mud slurps her boots down, rooting her in place.

"No," he snaps, glaring at her. "The first few years I dreamed about you screaming you were going to get me, the way you screamed and fought until that Templar knocked you out. And it gave me hope. Then I started having nightmares when you didn't come, that you'd been killed trying, or that you didn't know where I was, or that the Templar killed you when he hit you. I was afraid, but I still hoped you were okay." He sighs and gives her a sorrowful, dull stare. "The last few years it's just been you, looking as you do now, telling me you've forgotten all about me. Telling me you don't care enough to try to find me."

Her throat closes. After a long second of choking in an attempt to speak she shakes her head. "I can't do this," she manages. The mud gives way and she hurries up to the cabin.

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><p>Garrett stares around the wreckage of the Circle Tower. This place used to be his home, the only home he has known in nineteen years. Perhaps he was not permitted to leave, but he and the other mages were free to wander around, to go to the library and the commissary and one another's quarters. They read books and gossiped and practiced spells. They laughed and cried and argued and philosophized.<p>

He's managed to save eight enchanters. Only eight. Niall is dead. Jowan is long gone. At least Anders escaped before this mess. Garrett hopes his slightly mad friend wasn't caught before the massacre. There are others he recognizes among the dead. That abomination is wearing Clara's robes. That smear of blood has Warren's staff resting atop it. At least he fought back. Garrett shuts his eyes and feels Wynne's warm, firm fingers on his shoulder. A gentle, maternal gesture that reminds him of all he lost in the flight from Lothering.

The elder enchanter gives him a gentle, sad look, an expression of shared sorrow. After a second, Garrett embraces her, able to smell the candlewax and ink and rose petals scenting the old woman's robe. Wynne hugs him back, the two of them silent. When they pull apart, Garrett's cheeks are damp and so are hers. Their companions don't speak. Even Morrigan has nothing unpleasant to say.

"Come on," he says, "Let's get out of here."

The others don't need to be told twice. Once they reach the docks of Lake Calenhad, Garrett can't even bear to stay in the Inn. They walk for hours in the dark until someone stumbles. He looks back and realizes its Wynne. Sten has a grip on the old woman's arm and is steadying her, but Wynne's face is pale and weary.

"Let's camp here," Garrett says. He hears soft sighs of relief and faint murmurs from behind him. Alistair piles wood up and Morrigan lights it with a muttered word. Sten sets up tents with military precision and Leliana rifles through packs until she finds food, then starts cooking in silence. The Orlesian archer is the best cook among them and Garrett feels a pang of regret. He's too disturbed to eat tonight.

"If I may ask, Enchanter Amell," says Wynne in a quiet voice, "How did you hurt your eye? It looks as though someone punched you."

Garrett sighs. "I met my sister on the way out of Lothering."

"Your sister?"

"My whole family, actually. Or what's left of them," he answers. He sighs. Wynne puts an arm around his shoulders and he lets himself rest his temple against hers. She reminds him of the mother he didn't get to grow up with and after a moment, he's too overcome. Either he will start weeping about the horror of it all, or he will go mad and start setting everything on fire.

"Then you are very lucky. I never knew my family," says Wynne. Her words soothe him and he sits in silence, picking at his food when Leliana hands him a plate.

He can't take it anymore. He crawls into his tent and flops down on the bedroll, staring at the lantern hanging on the crossbeam. Shadows and light play off the walls of the tent. He can't sleep. Everything is horrible. The Blight is eating its way across Fereldan and King Cailan is dead. The Circle is all but destroyed and many men and women he respected and cared for are dead or worse. His mother died in his arms and his own twin rejected him from their family. There is nothing good in this world.

A rustle of fabric makes him blink and look toward the door of the tent. Morrigan walks in, silent, and sits on the floor in front of him. Garrett feels obliged to sit up and face her although he would rather continue to lie down. Once he settles, she speaks.

"I do not care for my mother," she says, "But it is clear that you do not have the same advantage in life."

"You don't have to, Morrigan," he answers. "I don't really want to talk about it."

Morrigan folds her arms and huffs. "Alistair threatened to use his Templar training on me if I didn't come talk to you," she snaps. "The bumbling idiot has finally learned to make a threat."

Garrett chuckles in spite of himself. "Good for him," he says. When she glares at him he hurries to add, "But thank you. I know you don't like to talk about this... stuff. You weren't in the Circle and you have nothing but contempt for Circle mages. And now look at what happened. They have eight enchanters left and half a dozen small mage-blood children who've now had a horrifying up-close encounter with what blood magic and dealing with demons can lead to."

Her golden eyes narrow. "I disagree. Those children have seen the measures that their captivity in the Circle will drive them to," she answers. "They've seen the horrible things that come of knowing nothing about blood magic and attempting to use it out of desperation, rather than remaining in control and not turning to demons for aid."

"What do you know about blood magic?" he asks, genuinely curious. Morrigan is so different from anyone he's ever met, mage or Templar or peasant. From her clothes, which he finds very compelling, to her biting wariness and strange half-wild attitudes, she is like no one he can imagine.

"Some. I know that one can draw power from their own blood, that one can use a simple primal act of self-sacrifice to work powerful magic. A cut to the forearm can bolster even a flame spell so that it burns hotter and harder if one draws on their blood instead of their mana," Morrigan explains. She pauses, arms folded across her chest, and then says, "It is a stronger connection to the Fade, and yes, it attracts demons, but a strong mage can withstand such." She stares at him and he watches her witchy golden eyes and the dark berry stain color of her lips. "If it helps at all, I believe you to be capable of such."

He nods slowly. Perhaps he will experiment, but not tonight. Now he is too raw, too troubled to consider the possibility of inviting scores of demons to resist. He realizes that he's staring at her when she brushes a lock of hair from her eyes self-consciously. "Will you stay here?" he asks her.

She blinks several times. "What?"

"No, I don't mean like that," he hurries to explain, fumbling with his words and wondering in a dark corner of his mind if this is how Alistair feels while trying to talk to women. "I mean, if you want to, we can, but I'm not asking. Pushing. Um. Sorry. I mean, will you just stay here to sleep. Nothing more. Just sleep."

One dark eyebrow arches and Garrett feels an impending disaster, but after a dreadful, prolonged pause, Morrigan says, "I do not understand. You wish me to keep you company, but not to bed me?"

"I don't want to just use you when I'm upset, Morrigan. It's about comfort and trust. Not about sex," he murmurs. He feels his cheeks heat. She's not like any of the girls in the Circle, willing to have a brief tryst in a dark corner behind Templar backs but no deeper connection. As unfamiliar as he is with the concept of relationships, he wants to know more about her before he does that. Not that he doesn't want to sleep with her in a less literal way, but he feels like the timing isn't quite right.

He's greeted with another long silence and his stomach knots. He's ruined it. No chance whatsoever with her, not even for a little dark-corner fling. Morrigan meets his eyes when she speaks and her voice sounds almost sad under the hard veneer. "I do not understand trust. I have never trusted anyone before," she says.

Licking his lips, Garrett reaches a hand toward her. "You can't understand something like trust if you've never tried to do it," he answers.

Morrigan looks at his hand and, after a moment, lets her fingers rest in his. "You do not make sense, Warden Amell," she says. "But I will attempt this trust you speak of. For tonight."

As he draws her to lie down next to him on the bedroll, he says, "Call me Garrett. In here, anyway."

* * *

><p>This is gonna kind of go back and forth between Marian Hawke and Warden Garrett. This means some time jumps. But I'll try and label them after this point.<p> 


End file.
